


to simmer, to savour, to save

by leaveanote



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Aroused in Public, Bound sex, Crowley's Throne (Good Omens), Domestic smut, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, No Refractory Period, Orgasm Delay, Overstimulation, Rimming, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Semi-Public Boners, Sex Toys, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), they're switches bitches, vibrator play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22516690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leaveanote/pseuds/leaveanote
Summary: “You’re going to order for me,” Aziraphale says softly. The Ritz bustles around them in the midst of the dinner rush. “The usuals, and then I trust you know what I’d like off the specials.” He unfolds the napkin on his plate tidily onto his lap. “Six courses, please.”Crowley’s sweating, his thighs clenched, his fingers clawing the tablecloth as he bites back the obscene moan building in the back of his throat.“Angel,” he chokes out, “Ican’t—when I’m like this—six courses—”“You can,” Aziraphale says. His voice is mild but his gaze is piercing. Crowley gulps. “And you will, my dear boy. For me.”*******In which Crowley has a vibrator inside him at the Ritz and Aziraphale has the remote in his pocket while he enjoys his meal.Crowley trusts that Aziraphale will take his husband home and see to him quite thoroughly, soon enough.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 759
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Smut Library, Hot Omens





	to simmer, to savour, to save

“You’re going to order for me,” Aziraphale says softly. The Ritz bustles around them in the midst of the dinner rush. “The usuals, and then I trust you know what I’d like off the specials.” He unfolds the napkin on his plate tidily onto his lap. “Six courses, please.”

Crowley’s sweating, his thighs clenched, his fingers clawing the tablecloth as he bites back the obscene moan building in the back of his throat.

“Angel,” he chokes out, “I  _ can’t— _ when I’m like this— _ six courses— _ ”

“You can,” Aziraphale says. His voice is mild but his gaze is piercing. Crowley gulps. “And you will, my dear boy. For me.”

* * *

The thing is, Crowley had spent quite a long time in a state of high-strung control. Certainly he exuded a sort of snaky laziness, a demonic nonchalance, but the fact of the matter is that he’d spent the better part of six thousand years hyperfocused on trying to gently persuade an angel to open his holy eyes about the truth of Heaven, while simultaneously not revealing that he, Crowley, was embarrassingly horns over tail in love with him.

It had been, it turned out, quite exhausting. Being a fraying knot of anxiety. And when it all came out after the world didn’t end, when Aziraphale had, in a move Crowley will never forget in all eternity, removed Crowley’s glasses and kissed him, Crowley had felt, among a million other emotions that felt better than flying ever had, relief. Release. 

At last, at last, the tension of the enormous secret, set free.

And after a few blissful years in which they’ve played at expressing their love in almost every way imaginable, Aziraphale has begun to tentatively experiment with taking more explicit control, letting Crowley just sink into the pleasure of being tended to. 

Which is how Crowley has ended up in the Ritz with a sleek black silicone vibrator lodged deep inside him, its rounded head pressing firmly against his prostate.

* * *

In anticipation of the waiter’s arrival, Crowley tries to shift imperceptibly in his seat to find a position that’s less _...encompassing, _ but it’s no use. Aziraphale positioned it where he wanted it, and it’s going to stay there. The vibrator is on four (out of six, six being the most powerful setting), and it’s pulsing right up against the bundle of nerves that Aziraphale knows  _ just  _ how to work to get Crowley to melt. 

“It’s all right, darling.” Aziraphale reaches over and places a soft, dry hand over Crowley’s clenched, sweaty fist. His ring is cool on Crowley’s searing skin. “I’m here, I love you. You’re doing so well, aren’t you? Don’t worry about anything, anyone else. It’s just you and me. It always is.” He smiles that gentle smile that feeds Crowley better than any meal, reaches up to tuck a stray curl out of Crowley’s eyes. His touch goes right to Crowley’s cock, which is already straining torturously against his briefs. 

At the same time, somehow, the touch is soothing. Aziraphale is a safe place, now. Where there was ache and self-loathing in Crowley before, there’s softness, kindness, reciprocal love. If Crowley wanted to, they would be home in a snap. He’d be safe and dry and empty, cuddled up in his husband’s arms. Crowley is as sure of this as he is of anything. 

“Color?” Aziraphale leans in to ask, cupping Crowley’s cheek. 

Crowley lets out a keening sound, quiet enough for only Aziraphale to hear. 

The vibrator feels... _ good.  _ Even here where he can’t do anything about his erection, it’s a pulsing, powerful rush of delicious familiar pressure, keeping him open, keeping him hard. And no one knows it but them. Crowley had to keep the secret of his desire on his own for so long, and now he gets to love Aziraphale out in the open, to be  _ hard  _ for him out in the open, and the secret belongs to them both.

“Green,” Crowley says in a small, sure voice.

“Good, my love,” Aziraphale murmurs. “Remember, you don’t need to wait for a check in to tell me it’s green, or to tell me if it changes.”

“I know,” Crowley nods, panting. “Thank you.”

Aziraphale bites his lip over a slight grin. He reaches into his demure jacket-pocket where Crowley knows the remote for the vibrator rests, and sure enough, in the next moment the fierce sensation relaxes to a two.

Oh yes, Crowley knows these settings by feel. He’s very fond of this toy, though this is his first time keeping it inside him anywhere except their bedroom (and once, in the Bentley), and certainly it’s shaping up to be the first time he’s keeping it for this long. This particular vibrator has been miracled into a shape almost exactly like Aziraphale’s cock, but  _ slightly,  _ teasingly smaller, with more of a curve to press against Crowley’s prostate without any maneuvering, and a discreet flared base. 

“Excellent,” Aziraphale says, his voice returning to a normal volume. “That was just because the waiter’s about to be here. Get ready, darling.”

Crowley swallows hard. Unclenches his tight fists, takes a steadying breath. He’s going to do what Aziraphale wants. He’s going to be good. Not only because he wants to be good for his angel, but because there’s something so strangely freeing in following orders for someone he actually  _ loves.  _ Crowley’s made quite a name for himself rebelling—feels good to not have to fight it.

“May I take your order?” The waiter could be young, old, movie-star-handsome, the spitting image of Shadwell, whatever. Crowley wouldn’t have noticed, even as he stares right at him through his glasses. His world is focused on Aziraphale’s gaze, steady and discerning, on Aziraphale’s thumb still gentle on his hand, and on the vibrating pulse of the toy spreading him the fuck open right there on the cushioned seat. 

“We’re going to take an order of the ballotine of duck liver, with cherry and almond,” Crowley says. Everything in his demonic power is focused on keeping his voice as steady as possible, he can feel the effort in his fucking  _ teeth  _ as the vibrator works against his prostate. “The Dublin Bay prawns a la nage, the—the ceviche special you mentioned”—Crowley grips Aziraphale’s hand tighter. He’s never been more grateful for his sunglasses, he knows his snake pupils are blown wide as the toy makes his erection throb. Aziraphale holds him steady. Crowley takes a deep,  _ way  _ too shuddering breath, and continues, hoping very much that he’s made the right choices. “—er, the sole and caviar, the artichoke royal, and we’ll wrap up with the ganache.”

“Very well, sir,” the waiter says. “And to drink?”

Crowley relaxes a smidge, he knows this one, knows what Aziraphale likes with his seafood. 

“We’ll have a bottle of the—ah!” Crowley  _ just  _ manages to turn his decidedly inappropriate sound into a cough and a throat clearing. Aziraphale, without removing his left hand from Crowley’s right, switched the toy up to three. “Ssorry. The chenin blanc goutte d’or, 2015.”

“Certainly,” says the waiter, gathering the menus. “I’ll be out shortly with your first course.”

Crowley keeps a tight smile on his lips until the waiter turns, then pushes his glasses up to bury his face in his hands.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses. He gives over to a full body tremble.

“Dear?” Aziraphale says hesitantly.

Crowley lets out a shuddering breath. 

_ “Sso  _ good, angel,” he whispers. He peeks at Aziraphale through his fingers. “It feels. Really good.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale relaxes, his expression sinking into a warm smile that makes Crowley feel like a hearth has been lit inside him. “Excellent, my love.” He switches the toy up another notch and Crowley rocks back ever so slightly, grinding onto it. He fights not to bite his lip, but gives up when he realizes Aziraphale is biting his, gives a little whimper, too.

Oh, he can  _ taste  _ Aziraphale’s arousal. It’s heady and delicious, familiar and intoxicating on his tongue. And he’s doing that, it’s him Aziraphale wants, the heat of his own desire that’s stoking Aziraphale’s. That thought alone feels as good as the vibrator.

“You did so well for me with the waiter, darling.”

_ “Too  _ well, didn’t I?” Crowley nearly whines. “You turned it up  _ right  _ while I was still talking to him—”

“Yes, I did.” Aziraphale says mildly, adjusting his tie. “And you rose to the occasion splendidly.”

“I’m plenty  _ risen,  _ trust me—”

_ “Crowley.”  _ Aziraphale adopts a falsely scandalized tone, grinning. He tilts his head close, brings his mouth to Crowley’s ear. Crowley’s eyes flutter shut, it’s so  _ much, _ the spread and pulse of the toy, Aziraphale’s love and _ attention,  _ his absolutely undivided attention. “Yes, I’d imagine you are, aren’t you? Will you stay that way throughout dinner, watching me eat, waiting for me to finish?”

A human couldn’t have lasted. It would shift into discomfort too soon, or they wouldn’t be able to keep the obvious arousal hidden.

But Crowley is a demon, and an optimist, and  _ very  _ determined to please his angel. Not to mention very fond of this toy, and whatever Aziraphale is going to reward him with for being good. 

“Mhmm,” he says with a cheeky grin. The waiter comes to pour their wine. Crowley samples it with only the slightest tremor in his hand, nods as Aziraphale does to allow the waiter to pour. He doesn’t drink much, though, not even when the waiter leaves, just sips it for the taste and to marvel at how he can appear so natural when his nerves are  _ alight. _

“Ah, here we are,” Aziraphale remarks, delighted, as the first two courses are placed before them. He lowers the setting to one before he digs his fork into the duck, and Crowley gives a whimper. He thought bringing the setting down would come as a relief, but the torturous gentled vibration only serves to turn him on  _ more— _ which his husband, judging by his barely concealed grin and the positive  _ rush  _ of arousal coming from him, quite anticipated. 

Aziraphale does this, now. He’s learning Crowley’s body just as Crowley is learning his, his wants and needs and how to push Crowley just to the very brink, to take him to a fresh realm of pleasure in this new, shared world that belongs to just them. 

“Oh, you bastard,” Crowley growls, dizzyingly in love. He digs his hands into the tablecloth as he tries not to twist his hips.

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow and helps himself to more of the duck, dipping it into the lush dark sauce. 

“Names, really? After I relent to a reprieve?” He closes his eyes and hums around his fork in a manner he  _ knows  _ is very familiar, and Crowley grits his teeth to keep from whimpering again. 

“Nothing of a reprieve about it, angel, and you know it.”

“You mean you want to be opened further, darling?” Aziraphale finishes the first course and pats his lips with his napkin, tugging the ceviche toward him. “You want our toy to fuck you open until you’re desperate to come, is that it? Until you could finish just from that and rubbing against your trousers?”

Crowley’s mouth hangs open. Aziraphale  _ does  _ talk like this, but not usually quite so explicitly when they’re out, and it’s sending shivers up his spine. The restaurant’s full but no one’s listening, and if they were it would only take a snap from Crowley to have them forget. Dirty talk is one thing tangled up in the privacy of their bedroom, one very spectacular thing, but there is something particularly naughty about hearing this when Aziraphale’s buttoned up to the shirt collar while Crowley’s hard and leaking and losing his damn mind. 

“I— _ yes—” _

“Well, we’re certainly not doing that,” Aziraphale tuts. He takes his time with the ceviche, scooping it up just so with the chip provided, letting the excess drip to the plate. He smiles around the taste, humming in delight, and even through his torment Crowley is  _ desperately  _ pleased to see Aziraphale savour his food so. He loves watching Aziraphale eat, he always has. Crowley like a good cup of coffee, could be persuaded into certain pastries or shellfish on the right occasion, but largely, food’s never really done it for him. But for Aziraphale, it’s one of the truest, most indulgent sensory pleasures of this earth. He just  _ enjoys _ it, it makes him happy, and Crowley always wants Aziraphale to be happy. He loves being the one to indulge him in it.

“I ordered right, didn’t I?” Crowley tries to inject his usual smugness into it, but it’s somewhat spoiled by the telltale breathlessness in his voice. 

“You certainly did.” Aziraphale pauses, making an  _ obscene  _ sound around his mouthful, and Crowley’s cock throbs in response. “Not a dish out of line, not one left out, dear. And I’ll have you know the only reason I’m not going to just take you into the coatroom and suck you off right now—though I am sorely tempted—is because I have other plans for you when we get home.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says weakly. 

The prawns arrive, and Aziraphale sets upon them with enthusiasm. And it’s just like every other one of the hundreds of times Crowley’s been across a table lusting after Aziraphale, except this time the angel wants him back and is  _ not _ letting him forget it, this time Aziraphale’s focused on his pleasure too, this time Aziraphale is thinking about Crowley, hard for him, the whole time he’s eating his dinner, this time Aziraphale’s going to take him home and kiss him and ask Crowley to touch him and say his name when he comes—

“Angel,” Crowley gasps, his voice breaking. The first setting is simply too tantalizing, too weak. “Could— _ please—” _

Aziraphale’s nostrils flare above a demure grin. 

“Would you let me feed you one? Just one bite, darling, and then I’ll give you what you wish.”

“Eurgh, the prawns?” Even as he’s halfway to moaning aloud, he wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like how they do ‘em here, angel. Much better at your second favorite sushi place.” 

“All right,” Aziraphale acquiesces, chuckling. “You’ll wait for the artichoke, will you? Or will it be the sole?”

Crowley realizes he actually has begun rolling his hips slightly, trying to seek out a deeper pleasure. He brings his hand to his throat, stroking it, trying to create another point of focus on his body to steady himself.

“Whichever comes first,” he chokes out.

Aziraphale polishes off the last of the prawns, licking his fingers clean, but the fourth course takes longer to arrive than the others have. Crowley takes a draught of wine just to take it, to wet his dry mouth. His thighs are truly shaking now, his cock would be staining through his trousers if Aziraphale wasn’t making sure nothing does (like the lube that’s liberally slicking the toy).

“Oh darling, you do want me, don’t you?” Aziraphale nudges his chair a little closer, rests his hand on Crowley’s thigh. Crowley  _ flinches  _ at the touch, focusing on keeping his breathing even. He’s sweating in earnest now, his cheeks certainly bright pink. “My sweet boy, my  _ love.”  _ Crowley hadn’t thought he’d like pet names, figured they’d feel embarrassing and wrong, but Aziraphale slipped into them so naturally, speaks them with such affection, even the silliest ones feel quite fitting somehow. “You’re so good for me, sweetheart. You know how good you look like that?” Aziraphale rubs his thigh ever so gently, and Crowley makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Still, the toy vibrates at its lightly humming  _ one. _ “You’re so terribly handsome, I’m quite a mess of it.”

_ “You’re  _ the mess,” Crowley snorts, “please, when you’re the most gorgeous fucking creature to walk the planet—”

“That’s you, Crowley,” and somehow his name, murmured quietly here in Aziraphale’s mouth, feels almost more intimate than a pet name. “You’re stunning. I love you with all I am, dearest.” 

Crowley swallows, a dazed sort of smile berthing upon his face. 

“And I want you,” Aziraphale continues. “I want your hands on me always, you know that, don’t you? Oh, I do love the gentle things, I love waking up with you and I love when you’re in the dishwashing up to your elbows, I love when you’re out making a mess of yourself in the garden and I love coming out with a cup of tea and reading in the porch chair while you make things grow until the night comes, and I love watching the beauty of the stars you made and the flowers you made and you, you, my sweetheart, my darling husband—”

_ “Angel.” _ Crowley’s pink up to his ears now, how is Aziraphale just as sexy even when he’s being so terribly  _ soft? _

“But I love the naughty bits as well—”

_ “Don’t  _ say ‘naughty bits,’” Crowley groans, but he’s grinning.

“I love how you touch me, those clever, careful hands. I love them on my waist, my ass, all over me—”

_ “Fuck,”  _ Crowley hisses, fighting in earnest not to grind down again.

“And your  _ mouth,  _ my love.” Aziraphale shudders, eyes fluttering shut like he’s remembering, and said mouth is suddenly almost watering at the sight alone. “Oh,” he says, his voice going small, “I love when your head’s between my thighs, I love when you stay down there for hours, you’re so  _ good  _ at making me come with just your tongue when I want it, darling, the way you pleasure me with it, it’s—a fucking  _ blessing,  _ if you pardon the expression, it feels quite better than a real one, let me tell you that—”

“Want to get my head between your thighs right  _ now,  _ angel.” Crowley says through gritted teeth.

Aziraphale looks at him, his expression heavy with arousal like he’s nearly ready to give in, then seems to shake himself out of it. 

“Well,” he clears his throat, smiling at the waiter who’s appeared,  _ “not  _ at the moment. You’ve got artichoke to try, my dear.”

“Mmph.” 

The dish looks like one of Crowley’s favorite kinds of modern art, which is to say it’s miniscule and seems to be composed of a bunch of miscellaneous shapes and colored squiggles. Aziraphale tastes it and sighs contentedly, and Crowley could jump out of his very bones with want.

“Here, love.” The angel gets a delicate forkful of vegetable and sauce, and brings it to Crowley’s lips. 

Crowley shivers. Aziraphale’s own mouth is slightly open, his lips damp from the bite, and the vibrator is still moving terribly slow up inside Crowley, where he’s quite good and well-opened now. Obediently, Crowley parts his lips, and lets Aziraphale lay the food on his tongue.

It  _ is  _ good. Bright and savory, crisp with just a hint of brine. 

“Isn’t it nice?” Aziraphale asks.

“It is,” but Crowley doesn’t only mean the food, and Aziraphale’s eyes crinkle in understanding. “It’s good, angel. It’s really, really good.”

“I’m so glad you like it,” Aziraphale says softly. “Thank you for trying it. Thank you for trusting me.” 

Crowley smiles at him in response—and then seizes the edge of the table with both hands. 

“Oh,  _ fuck.”  _

Aziraphale has kept his word, and turned the setting up to three again. Crowley slams his eyes shut, focusing on keeping his breathing even, focusing on the pleasure of the pulse inside him, trying not to let it take over even as the heat of it spreads through his spine, his ribs, his throat. It’s a  _ fierce  _ vibration after the hum of the first setting, right the fuck against his prostate, and his untouched cock is getting painfully desperate against his trousers.

The sole comes, the fifth course. Crowley registers Aziraphale thanking the waiter, through a sort of haze. Aziraphale cuts a piece, opens his mouth to take a bite, and then he looks up and his eyes meet Crowley’s through his glasses and Crowley realizes he cannot wait any longer. He wants  _ so fucking bad _ to do as Aziraphale asked him, to wait until the end of the sixth course, but he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep from keening aloud now, and he can’t stop shaking.

Crowley blinks and opens his mouth to break, to apologize—and then realizes the Ritz has dissolved around him, and they’ve been transported to the South Downs, in their cottage, at home.

He’s shirtless but still in his trousers, the toy on two inside him, and they’re on the sofa Aziraphale insisted on bringing with them from the bookshop. 

“Come here, sweetheart.” 

Crowley’s still scattered, trying to get his bearings as Aziraphale gathers him into his arms, pressing gentle kisses into his forehead. 

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbles, cheeks pink, but Aziraphale’s already shaking his head as he takes off Crowley’s glasses.

“Absolutely not, none of that.” He takes Crowley’s face in his hands, and Crowley can see that his own is pink too, and gentle with love. “You know we stop the minute it’s even a bit not fun for one of us.”

“I do know,” Crowley says gratefully, and he means it. “Thank you.” He sinks into Aziraphale’s arms, groaning as he grinds openly down on the toy—and then he remembers. “Hey, what about—”

“The car is in the driveway, of course,” Aziraphale says soothingly.

“No—oh, good—” Crowley registers that he’d actually forgotten he’d driven them into London. He says a mental apology to the Bentley. “Er, I meant. Your cake.” 

Aziraphale chuckles. He cards his hand through Crowley’s shoulder-length hair, running his nails gently over Crowley’s scalp. Now that Crowley doesn’t have to be quiet, doesn’t have to keep up the pretense, he moans aloud into the touch, his hips gyrating down on the pressure inside him. 

“It’s keeping in the fridge, love. Thank you.” He presses a kiss to Crowley’s temple. “Now, then. You were so very good for me, my dear. Next time we’ll call it five courses, perhaps.”

Crowley groans his assent, nuzzling helplessly at the soft curve where Aziraphale’s throat meets his shoulder, gripping at the angel’s lapels.

“I liked it,” he murmurs into Aziraphale. “Being out there, spread and teased and wanting you. ‘Cause I knew you knew it.”

“I did,” Aziraphale smiles, running his hands up and down Crowley’s bare back. “I’m so glad, my dear.” 

“Just couldn’t— _ wait _ anymore—”

“I know that too.” He tugs him closer, Crowley’s hot skin rubbing against his clothes. “How about now? How are you feeling? I can proceed with my intended plans, but I can take it out if you’d rather we just—”

Crowley climbs to straddle Aziraphale’s lap, cutting him off with a kiss. The vibrator shifts inside him and he whines.

“Please, angel,  _ please— _ green,  _ green, more—” _

Aziraphale huffs through his nose and smiles. 

“Very well, then.” 

Aziraphale snaps, and Crowley finds himself seated on his throne (which  _ he  _ had insisted on bringing to the cottage, and keeping in the living room), bound naked to it by wrists and ankles with their silk tartan ropes. They’ve used the ropes to bind wrists and ankles before, but never  _ to  _ anything, just like they’ve never used his throne for quite this purpose. It seems to have been stretched slightly wider, spreading Crowley’s legs apart. Crowley feels a fresh frisson of arousal course through him, exacerbated by the fact that Aziraphale is leaning over him, caressing his cheek, and he too is naked now, his thick cock fully hard. Crowley’s own weight presses him harder against the vibrator and he knows suddenly that he is not going to last. 

“Angel—” he chokes out. 

“Is this okay?” Aziraphale asks softly.

_ “Yes— _ fuck—but I want to come, please—”

Aziraphale straddles him, warm and familiar. 

“Can I ride you, darling? I’m ready—but if you’d prefer I just take you in my hand to get the edge off—”

Crowley strains at the ropes, thrusting his hips as far up as they’ll go.

“Get on my cock, angel,” he hisses. 

Aziraphale beams and sinks onto him, slick and open, and Crowley cries out. 

He had been hard for ages, rubbing up against the seam of his jeans and nothing else, and now it’s  _ so  _ much all at once, Aziraphale tight and warm around him. 

Aziraphale braces his hands on the back of the chair, his knees on the widened cushion and his thighs bracketing Crowley’s, and as he begins to move it’s like he’s everywhere. His chest hot on Crowley’s, his cock dripping against Crowley’s stomach, his weight on Crowley’s lap  _ pressing  _ him down onto the vibrator. 

“I know, it’s a lot,” Aziraphale says, breathless. “Color?”

“Green,” Crowley manages. He’s on the brink, the toy relentless at a two on his overstimulated prostate, the soft heft of his husband everywhere, and fuck, the scent of Aziraphale alone could do it—after sitting across from him all night, to finally get to bury his face in Aziraphale’s chest and breathe him in. The bindings help, keeping him steady, but only because Aziraphale knows to cover every inch of Crowley’s body he can reach with Aziraphale’s own, to compensate for that fact that Crowley would be touching him all over if he could. “But I am  _ not _ gonna last.”

“You don’t have to anymore,” Aziraphale says immediately, and he starts to ride Crowley in earnest. “You can come, my love. I’m going to make you come as many times as you like tonight. You were so good, waiting, and you feel so good now, that beautiful cock of yours up inside me, you know I wanted this all night?”

Crowley can no longer speak. The toy vibrates mercilessly against his prostate and as Aziraphale fucks down onto him, he gets fucked down harder onto the toy. His fists ball, his toes curl, but he makes himself keep his eyes open to watch as Aziraphale rides his cock.

“I’ve wanted you just like this, Crowley, ever since you  _ got  _ this ridiculous throne.” Aziraphale’s panting now, cheeks flushed from exertion. Crowley would thrust up into him if he could, but he can’t move, the pent-up pleasure making him taut and boneless at once, and he knows Aziraphale understands. “Wanted to tie you to it and ride you until you come, wanted to give you this, wanted you exactly where you should be—in a place of  _ triumph,  _ my dear, and also, buried inside me.” 

Aziraphale kisses him, and that does it. 

Orgasm slams into Crowley like a star erupting, bright and fierce and encompassing. Aziraphale makes an obscene, delighted sound very like the one he made at dinner and fucks him harder as Crowley fills him up. Crowley doesn’t, can’t, make a sound. He’s been kept on the shimmering edge for so long and now that he’s spilling over all the built-up energy crashes through him, his body clenching around the vibrator as he comes, dragging the sensation on and on and on until he could nearly get lost in it, every nerve alight, a far-flung galaxy of sharp, sparkling pleasure.

It is Aziraphale who keeps him anchored. Who watches him carefully as he moves until at long last, Crowley slumps in the throne, and then Aziraphale snaps and the vibrator’s gone, Crowley’s empty for the first time since sunset.

Aziraphale doesn’t move away immediately, doesn’t abandon contact. He holds Crowley close, then slowly, gingerly lifts off him and sits on his thighs.

“Crowley?”

Crowley buries his face in the soft, welcoming crook of Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, “I love you, I  _ love you,  _ that was— _ mm.” _

“Oh,  _ good,  _ my darling.” Aziraphale’s arms encircle him. “I love you, I love you so much.”

Crowley catches his breath, coming down from his peak. He lets his body adjust. In the wake of the waiting, the wanting, the overstimulation and then the echoing absence of it, Aziraphale holds him tenderly, murmuring gentle words of love and praise until Crowley looks up at him.

“Can I get you off now?” Crowley’s still shaking from the aftershocks, the ripples of his powerful orgasm, but Aziraphale’s erect and beautiful in his lap and he hasn’t gotten to touch him at  _ all. _

Aziraphale’s lovely face lights up in a smile, though one tinged with the same wickedness that’s kept Crowley on edge all night, and Crowley shivers in want and anticipation.

“I have other plans for that, if you’re amenable,” he says softly, and Crowley’s spent cock twitches with interest. “You can clean me up though, if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Crowley says, his voice ragged, “oh,  _ please—” _

Aziraphale snaps again and this time they’re in their bed, the bedroom warm with lamplight, Crowley unbound at last. 

Crowley wraps his arms and legs around his angel, finally able to reach for him, and he runs his hands over Aziraphale’s beautiful, familiar curves and ridges, the muscles and rolls of him alike, reveling in his softness and his strength. 

“Thought you’d might be ready to have your hands free,” Aziraphale hums dreamily, stretching out so Crowley can kiss him all over. 

“It’s perfect,” Crowley growls, “you’re  _ perfect.”  _ He licks a stripe up Aziraphale’s throat and fervent satisfaction spreads through him at the shiver it pulls out of his husband. “Now, turn over, angel.” 

Aziraphale grins, wriggling joyously, and Crowley’s heart soars. 

“Look at you,” Crowley breathes. With Aziraphale splayed out on his stomach, legs spread, his ass is on display, and it’s full of Crowley’s come. It trickles out of him, down his perineum, spilling over his balls and his hard cock, and Crowley gives a sound of desire deep in his throat as he feels his own cock begin to stiffen again in response. 

Crowley sprawls out on the bed between Aziraphale’s thighs and breathes in the scent of him. He presses deep kisses into Aziraphale’s cheeks, his curves, until the angel pushes back at him.

“Don’t keep me waiting, darling. I’ve got plans, remember?”

“Oh, fuck,” Crowley whispers, and spreads Aziraphale’s cheeks. Aziraphale is fucked open and dripping. Crowley drags the flat of his tongue from Aziraphale’s balls, over his entrance, and up to the depths of his crease, and the angel arches his back. 

Aziraphale moans, but Crowley hardly hears it over the sound of his own. He  _ loves  _ this. Loves it always, whether it’s a precursor to penetration or getting Aziraphale off with his tongue alone, but he has a particular affection for cleaning his husband this way. He loves the sight, the taste, the smell of Aziraphale spread and full of him, loves how Aziraphale gets even more comfortable and pushy when he’s already been fucked but hasn’t come yet, squirming up against him, but it’s more than that, too. Crowley has to be especially gentle, focused, when Aziraphale’s like this, and that centers him just as well as any binding. 

“Just your mouth,” Aziraphale breathes, nudging away the hand Crowley had moved to reach for his cock. “You’ll make me come soon, darling, but not like this, not tonight, I just want— _ oh,  _ yes. Yes, Crowley. Move your tongue just like that.”

Crowley thrusts his tongue carefully into him, pushing some of his own come deeper inside Aziraphale and swallowing the rest. Aziraphale is hot and so  _ good _ around his tongue, and as Crowley sucks gently on his rim, he can feel his own cock filling again. 

Aziraphale clenches around him, gasping, and Crowley licks him harder. He’s so messy now, the come lapped up or pushed inside but he’s slick with Crowley’s spit, and so open. 

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale moans, clawing at the sheets, “oh, fuck. Well, all right. This wasn’t precisely what I intended, but I do very much want—Crowley, would you—”

_ “Yes,  _ angel—”

“But—well, then let me turn over, swing your hips up here while you do, won’t you? I  _ have _ to taste you. And I’ve been wanting to fuck you, darling, you’re all open from the toy, aren’t you? Do you want that?”

Crowley’s hot all over, in the very best way. 

“Oh, Aziraphale.”

“Come here,” Aziraphale beseeches him, turning onto his back, “let me get my mouth on you.”

Dizzy with desire again, Crowley kisses Aziraphale hard first, and the angel gives a lewd moan as he tastes himself on Crowley’s mouth. Then he’s pushing Crowley downwards, reaching for Crowley’s thighs. Crowley straddles his head, breathing heavily, and bends over him to wrap his lips around Aziraphale’s cock.

He barely has time to delight in the heft of Aziraphale on his tongue before he gives a muffled cry around it. Aziraphale sucks him  _ hard,  _ bobbing his own head into the mattress, and Crowley knows he’s tasting himself there on Crowley’s cock, and he shivers. Aziraphale seizes Crowley’s hips and drags him into his throat to the hilt, his tongue hungrily laving over Crowley’s length, and stars flash before Crowley’s eyes. He focuses as best as he can on sucking Aziraphale off, but then Aziraphale presses two fingers to his rim, where he’s still so open and sensitive from the toy, and Crowley’s knees give. 

If Aziraphale wasn’t holding him steady with his free hand, he’d fucking collapse right on top of him, it’s too much, so fucking much and still somehow not enough. Aziraphale’s fingers go in so easy, he’s  _ so  _ open and it feels so, so good not to be empty anymore. Crowley’s trembling again, sucking Aziraphale down in a messy rhythm with no finesse, unable to fuck into Aziraphale’s mouth but he doesn’t need to, Aziraphale’s rocking against him hard and then he slips a third finger into Crowley and  _ twists,  _ and Crowley’s filled again but not enough, he’s so close with Aziraphale’s precome in his mouth and Aziraphale’s hard cock spreading his lips and Aziraphale’s attentions on his own cock, he can hardly think, he can hardly  _ move,  _ he had been kept wanting for so long and he came so hard and now here he is again, nearly on the brink, but he wants—he wants—

Aziraphale pulls his fingers out, grabs his hips, and lifts Crowley off him. 

“On your back. Now.” 

“Oh angel, angel,  _ please—” _

Crowley scrambles onto his back, a mess of limbs and hot, shivering want. Aziraphale shoves his thighs apart. 

“Do we need—?”

“No, no, I’m ready, I’m so  _ fucking  _ ready, I’ve been wanting your cock inside me all night—” 

“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale places his hands on either side of Crowley’s face, pressing their bodies together. Crowley whines, pulling his legs back, holding his thighs apart. He cants his hips up and the head of Aziraphale’s cock brushes his entrance, and Crowley lets out a high, weak sound he’d be ashamed of if he were ashamed of anything with Aziraphale but he’s not, not anymore. “I love you,” Aziraphale murmurs. “I love finding new ways of making you feel good. Got you all open and wanting me, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Crowley manages, tilting his hips up higher, “angel—”

“Every single time we shared a meal, Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly, stroking his hair. “I wanted you. Every single time you were watching me, and wanting me, I knew it, and I wanted you right back just as badly, my love. I only wanted to keep you safe, and now we’re as safe as we’ll ever be, we’re  _ together,  _ and it’s everything. You give me everything, and I love you, and I will never stop.”

Aziraphale enters him.

He thrusts in slow and to the hilt, and Crowley’s mouth opens in a wordless cry as a searing, overwhelming pleasure encompasses him again. He’s bright with affection from the angel’s words and full and surrounded all at once, full at  _ last,  _ Aziraphale’s thick, familiar cock a fucking relief inside him, all the better for the waiting. 

“That’s it, darling,” Aziraphale murmurs, pulling back and beginning to thrust. “Good boy, taking all of me. You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Is it good, is it too much? Can you tell me how it feels?”

Crowley shakes his head. He can’t speak, he  _ can’t,  _ but he wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and holds on tight, wraps his legs around him too, pulling him in as deep as he’ll go. It’s not just the physical sensation that’s overwhelming, it’s the sheer, encompassing love, a force all its own. 

Crowley starved for this, for millennia. His longing for Aziraphale was as much a part of him as anything else he’s ever been or done on earth. It isn’t unchanged, necessarily—it deepened, a thousandfold, it continues to—but it was a constant. A gnawing, despairing constant.

And now, Crowley can feast. He never has to stop. And it’s more than that—those years of ache are remade, now that he knows Aziraphale spent all that time wanting him, too.

He knows all this. It’s nothing new, not anymore, not years in. 

But it hasn’t ceased to overwhelm him, in the best way. 

Aziraphale knows. He loves nourishing Crowley like this, reminding him again and again of the depth, the breadth of his love. Sometimes it’s an attempt at making the coffee (he’s awful at it). Sometimes it’s letting Crowley play the hero, craft preposterous and dashing plots to go on overseas adventures and steal rare books and make love under the stars, somewhere neither of them have ever been before. 

And sometimes it’s edging him til he can hardly take it and then shagging him  _ fucking  _ speechless.

“All right, love,” Aziraphale says, his voice so tender, and Crowley lets it wash over him. “When you can. I can keep going?”

Crowley jerks his head in a nod, biting his lip.

Aziraphale fucks him, and Crowley loses all sense of time. He thrusts slow and intentional, filling Crowley deep, so Crowley can feel every inch dragging through him again and again. Aziraphale pushes in until his thighs are pressed to the backs of Crowley’s and then he rolls his hips, grinds his cock against Crowley’s prostate until Crowley’s tugging at his hair, locking his ankles around Aziraphale’s waist.

“Just like that,” he manages at last. “Fuck, angel. You’re going to make me come just like that.”

Aziraphale kisses him, and then fucks into him just like that. He props himself up on one hand and cups Crowley’s cheek with the other, his thumb slipping between Crowley’s parted lips and resting on his tongue. Crowley licks at him, open in every single sense, a perfect wreck of trust and want and sheer, devoted adoration.

Aziraphale gives strong, gentle thrusts that  _ push _ against that spark of nerves, and the prostate orgasm that’s been teasing inside Crowley since dinner builds and builds and builds until Crowley lets out a cry that’s nearly a sob and then he’s coming, his cock pulsing untouched between their chests, and then Aziraphale puts both his palms on the mattress and fucks him  _ hard,  _ pounding into his ass and Crowley feels every muscle in him tighten in ecstasy, his back arching, his thighs pulling Aziraphale in, and Aziraphale fucks him so good through it that it fucking builds even while he’s coming. Crowley writhes beneath him, crying out something that sounds half like a prayer he actually believes in, half like Aziraphale’s name, and everything like  _ I love you,  _ over and over until he feels Aziraphale spill into him and he gives a fresh gasp of pleasure at the pulse and slick heat of him, and even though he can hardly move he tilts his head up and kisses him as much as he can. 

He loses track of everything except for Aziraphale, still pulsing inside him, breathless on his mouth. 

“Oh,” Crowley says, at long last when he can speak. “Oh, oh,  _ oh.”  _

“Er,” Aziraphale says. “Hi.” He grins, smug and nervous at once as he carefully pulls out, and Crowley envelops him in an embrace. Crowley gives an enormous. exhausted smile, and presses it into his husband’s cheek. 

“Very,  _ very _ perfect,” he murmurs, nuzzling. 

“Oh, good!” Aziraphale wiggles in his arms.  _ “I  _ certainly thought so, darling, but I know it got to be quite a lot—”

“In the best way.” Crowley’s voice is hoarse. His entire body feels wrung out, but also sated to his very core. “I love when you take care of me, angel.” He brushes his fingers through Aziraphale’s sweaty hair, and Aziraphale hums contentedly. He does that a lot, afterward. It’s the sweetest sound, one of Crowley’s favorites. 

“You know I feel the same, my dear.”

They lie there, a comfortable tangle, caressing each other, breathing each other in.

“Hey,” Crowley says, his voice soft and drowsy. “Thank you, for bringing us home. From the Ritz. Even—even when I didn’t ask you to.” 

Aziraphale lifts his head up to look at him.

“Of course,” he says, and there’s only understanding in his voice. “Our color system is good, but it’s not encompassing.” He gives a sleep-mussed grin, and  _ oh,  _ Crowley loves him so much. He never used to sleep much before, but he does now, here in Crowley’s arms, and Crowley gets to wake up to him in the dawn light. “We’re learning, together! The most important thing is that we’re comfortable, isn’t it, and having a good time.” 

“Well, we’re certainly doing that,” Crowley smiles. He can hardly recognize his voice, all warm and lush like this. It feels new, still. It feels right. 

“Yes, my dear.” Aziraphale kisses him, then curls up with his head on Crowley’s chest, twining their legs together. 

They drift off to sleep, for what could be a week or just a few hours, depending on how badly Aziraphale wants that gateau they’d brought home. And when they wake up, they will tend to each other, as they do every day, always. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i hope you liked it <3  
> check out my other fics here and talk to me about ineffable kisses on tumblr @ [letmetemptyou](https://letmetemptyou.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] to simmer, to savour, to save](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23259490) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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